White Houses
by musicbendr
Summary: Blair's mother sends her to a vacation home with four kids she's never met. Over the summer, Blair will learn about the friendships she's never known and the love she never should have lost. Based on "White Houses" by Vanessa Carlton. Waldsen.
1. Prologue

**Based on "White Houses" by Vanessa Carlton. It's Waldsen, don't like, don't read, etc. Um... not exactly a songfic, but based off that song. If that makes sense... look up the lyrics if you wanna know more.**

This should be fun. Really, it should. Or so my mother tells me. She thinks I need to get out of New York for the summertime and get some fresh air. So she's sent me to the Hamptons to live in an enormous white house with the kids of four of her college friends. I can't complain, though; she'll make my life a living hell if I do.

So that's why I'm here, scourging around Grand Central Station in the common filth waiting for a train bound for Long Island Sound while said mother of mine sips champagne in Paris. I'd be laughing at the irony of the situation if I hadn't heard the joke a thousand times before.

The conductor shouts a last call for the 7:00 to Long Island Sound and I trot over to him, handing him my ticket with a practiced smile. He doesn't return it; simply stamping the sheet of paper and shoving it back into my hands. "Hurry up, young lady. Train's about to go."

I nod my head in thanks, even though he hasn't really done anything for me. I go, go, go to the first compartment on the train. First class. She might not be here to see me off, but Eleanor knows how to make me comfortable. As comfortable as I can be on a train, at any rate. I have to lug my bag all the way up there, and finally a coachman helps me lift it onto the train.

My carry-on has little luggage in it, as Eleanor's arranged to have all my clothes and things shipped up beforehand. The only things it contains are an iPod, a book, my cell phone, and a scrawled list of my roommates messily given to me thirty seconds before the Parisian plane left. I haven't looked at it, refusing to show any emotions other than anger or resentment towards this trip. I settle into my seat, pulling out my iPod. The soft sounds of Sarah Vaughn fill my ears. If I turn it up loud enough, I'll be able to pretend that I'm somewhere that's not an infernal train headed to what could possibly turn out to be the worst summer of my life.

The mechanical beast lurches forward and the tiles of Grand Central Station blend together into one big mess until we shoot out into the blur of city buildings. I like to watch them go by, counting down the minutes until I have to get off and watch the one season that actually belongs to my desires slip through my fingers.

The note's sticking out of the top of my bag. I try not to pay attention to it; pay attention to the scenery instead. It means nothing to me, just a preparation for something I'm already prepared for in the first place. But just knowing it's there, that I can have that knowledge, and maybe get one step ahead of the competition, makes me crave it. And since there's no one around to see my betrayal, I pull out the crumpled list from the bottom of the bag.

Its creases and wrinkles irk me, and I try to smooth it out as best as possible with my black gloved hands. Even after five minutes, it still looks more like something the laundry machine tossed out than an actual piece of paper. The writing, too: there are perfectly blue lines all across the paper, but none of the writing quite seems to make it onto them. The only thing the note has going for it is that the names are in alphabetical order. I decide that this is out of habit, based on all of Eleanor's time spent cataloging things and keeping track of models. It's not at all for my benefit. I push aside my controlling neatness and try to read.

**Nate Archibald:** Father is Howard, businessman, missing. Mother is Anne. Lives in Connecticut. Good sailor, smart.

**Chuck Bass:** Father is Bart Bass, billionaire hotel manager. Divorced from mother. From New York City. At boarding school in Massachusetts. Bad boy- stay away.

**Dan Humphrey:** Father is Rufus, ex-guitarist. Mother unknown, but Rufus re-married Serena's mom. Lives w/ Van der Woodsens in northern NH. Smart, unorthodox.

**Serena Van der Woodsen:** Mother is Lily(socialite), married to Rufus. Father is billionaire, divorced. Northern NH. Nice girl, somewhat of a partier.

Well. That certainly looks like a nice list of people to spend the summer with. I've never met Chuck, even though we live in the same city. For as long as I can remember, he's been away at that boarding school, and in the summers, he goes to Nantucket. His father comes around our house every once in a while, just to throw back some wine and reminisce with my mother. But Chuck Bass himself is a mystery to me. Unfortunately, no photos of the four are available, but for some inane reason, there's a picture of the five of them, all in front of what I assume is the same white house we'll be staying in. I spot Eleanor instantly, the dark brunette curls which I've inherited prominently laying over the shoulder of one of the boys and reflecting sunlight. She's smiling, something I rarely get to see. She's also almost covering the boy whose shoulders her curls rest on. They're all in the disastrous beach ware of the '80's and piling on top of each other like an awful, yet enthusiastic, cheerleading pyramid. There's one more girl, who I assume is Lily Van der Woodsen. Besides her obviously feminine traits, I can tell it's her because she's draped around a dirty rocker with long wet brown hair dangling in front of his face and an awkward stubble dotting his chin. I figure this must be Rufus, because no one but a grunge rocker would wear that look. The other two clean cut, all-American boys must be Nate and Chuck's dads. I vaguely recognize Bart by the hard look in his blue eyes as the one who my mother is on top of. I certainly don't want to think about that, so I turn my focus to Howard Archibald, who looks a little portly in the picture, but in a fun-loving way. I honestly hope that this summer turns out to be nothing like there's, its crowning glory a stupid photograph to be handed down to my child. I plan on spending this summer alone in that house. These people, well, I don't want to meet anyone new. I already have enough friends back in New York, and enough boys to keep me entertained for at least five years. I don't really need any of these people, this Chuck or this Nate or this Dan. And especially not this Serena. Just her name makes her sound like a bitch.


	2. The First Day

_Crashed on the floor when I moved in_

_This little bungalow with some strange new friends_

The house is big. And white. I really don't have much else to say about it, because it's just so boring looking. Really. There's a couple of shutters on the windows and a sort of overhang above the front porch, but other than that, the house looks pitifully normal. The white porch swing almost makes me want to throw up for its tackiness.

The gardens, though, are a different story. I'm the first one here, because I wanted to take an early train so I could scope out the territory before it's invaded by people who are certainly going to be useless. Even the hedges in the front are impressive, with beautiful roses spouting out from them. They're lined neatly in front of the stark white of the house, trimmed to perfection with nothing sticking out from the sides. I approve.

I've already visited the backyard, which is filled with all sorts of plants and creepers slinking around everywhere. Most of the plants I've never seen before. The whole place is overgrown, so that makes it a little less appealing. I prefer to stand on the back patio and stare at the winding vines and busted pots rather than actually venture into them. I suppose that's why Eleanor always refers to me as a "city girl." I used to hate her for saying that, but now, sitting in a wicker chair on this back porch, I have to admit she might have a tiny bit of a point.

The other teenagers who are supposed to be here are all late. It's no wonder; teenagers generally are, unless, like me, they decide to make a point of being early. Based on the descriptions, I predict that Nate will get here first, followed by Chuck, and lastly Serena and Dan, who are renting a car and Dan is getting them lost, and Serena is cursing him because he wouldn't just let them use a driver like a normal person. Those are only my thoughts; I'll have no way of knowing if they're true until the four arrive.

It's kind of scary, but I feel almost jittery waiting for them. There's clearly no reason to be frightened of them, because I'm the Waldorf here, and Waldorfs never play second fiddle. We actually don't play fiddles at all; if anything, it would be a violin. At any rate, they can't expect to show up whenever they feel like it. All things demand a schedule, and meeting new "friends" follows the same guidelines. In fact, if we are meeting for societal advantages (why else would our parents send us to this deserted hellhole?), then it would make more sense to be prompt.

Tires squelch in the driveway and I eagerly make my way over to the garden gate, through the brush, on the stepping stones. I peek out over the top of the gate, not wanting to seem too eager to greet the stranger. I wait a short amount of time before opening the gate and walking out with a composed air. I always do try to make a great first impression.

The first person here is a boy, probably my age. So I'm assuming it's Chuck or Nate. Judging by his perfectly tousled little brown hair, regular button down blue-and-white striped shirt, long (wrinkled) khakis, and vague resemblance to Zac Efron, this is Nate. If Chuck truly turns out to be a bad boy as Eleanor warned me, he wouldn't be caught dead with those clothes or that hairstyle. He clamors out of the car, dazed and confused. Probably too sunny for him. He squints and glances over in my direction, seeming to think I'm a mirage or something along those lines.

"Oh, hey. Are you, um, Serena?" I scoff at him internally. "Or Blair?"

But I smile politely at him now. "Blair Waldorf." I stick out my hand for him to shake. He takes it firmly. I wouldn't have expected him to have that strong of a grip, judging by his pretty-boy face.

"I'm Nate. Archibald." That's nice. I don't care much about his name. I don't care much about him, or this ridiculous summer trip. "So, um, how are you?"

It's a random question, but I don't want to appear rude to him, so I answer. "I'm doing alright."

"Hey, have you been inside yet?" he asks.

"Not really," I reply, idly thinking that he might be attractive enough to keep me entertained this summer. "I've only been into the foyer to put my things down. I went around the back, though, and it's basically a disaster area."

He nods. "Well, shall we?" He extends his arm like a perfect gentleman, waving me in. I open the door into the lavishly decorated foyer, and he whistles at its elegance. Clearly he doesn't come from _that_ much money, because it's nothing special. I mean, sure there's a Swavorski chandelier in the foyer, but it's not that big. And the Persian rugs? Barely even high end. The floor boards appear to only be mahogany, not anything worth noting.

"Nice place. Anyway, do you need help with your bags?" Nate's already on the move towards them. Hmm... is he flirting? If he is, I can use it to my advantage. Make him do stupid things and make this summer more eventful.

I smile with a slight flutter of my eyelashes. "Sure. I haven't picked a room out yet, so maybe you'd like to help?"

He's overeager. Perfect. "Yeah. I'd like that." Nate picks up my suitcase and heaves it up the stairs. I then realize that a room has probably already been picked out for me, seeing as my other luggage was brought up here earlier. Oh, well. My personal bell hop doesn't know that.

The carpet on the landing actually looks like something respectable, maybe from Alex Cooper or somewhere like that. It pales in comparison to our carpets, but it's not awful. Nate once again appears fairly impressed. We go through the hall, finding many rooms, most of them sitting rooms dens. At the end of the hall, there's a bedroom with my bags stowed neatly against the wall, my clothes tucked away in the closet. And two beds. It looks like I'll be spending some time with Miss Van der Woodsen, whether I want to or not.

"Is this all your stuff, or did Serena get here first?" he wonders, gently tossing my bag onto the bed closer to the window.

I shrug casually. "It's mine. I had it shipped up."

He nods like he actually cares. "Do you know where everyone else is?"

Okay, that was clearly a bid for communication, because how would I know where they are? "I'm not sure. I've never met anyone here before."

Here he goes with a shy grin. "Well, now you met me."

I'm going to play with him, be coy. "Yeah. I guess I have."

The door creaks downstairs, saving me from whatever cheesy response he has planned next. "Hello! Anyone up there!" A couple of heavy footfalls follows this statement, and pretty soon the next boy, who must be Chuck since I see no girl accompanying him, trots into our room. "Not interrupting anything, am I?" His smile is shrewd and sleazy and I'd prefer if he left immediately.

"Not at all." I size him up: about as tall as Nate, with darker, more orderly hair, olive skin, and vaguely narrow eyes. _This_ is the bad boy "chick" magnet my mother warned me about? He doesn't look so tough.

"I'm Nate Archibald." Nate sticks out his hand in a gesture of friendship, but can he honestly be naïve enough to think that Chuck cares? Chuck is more interested in me, and I'm not just saying that. He shakes Nate's hand for appearance's sake, but keeps his gaze fixedly on me.

"I'm Chuck Bass." His voice is tough and hoarse like he's trying to get something out of his throat. I assume he thinks that he sounds cool.

I fold both my arms across my chest, making it clear that I don't want to shake his hand. "Blair Waldorf."

He nods in recognition. "Ah, yes, Blair. Pity we've never met before."

I shrug nonchalantly. "I suppose." Nate looks on like he wants to resolve the tension that instantly sprung up between Chuck and myself. He also looks pretty hopeless at being able to do so.

He opts for a question instead. "You guys kind of know each other?" No, Nate, we don't. I believe that's what Chuck just said. At this moment, I don't know which of them I prefer less.

Chuck shakes his head. "Nathaniel- mind if I call you Nathaniel?- our parents know each other very well, but we have never met." I think I barely prefer Chuck, because when he says "Nathaniel," Nate's nose wrinkles into a confused, indignant look that does not suit him at all and causes him to resemble a genetically modified pig. It's very funny.

"We live within in twenty blocks of each other, but have never met," I inform Nate.

"Regrettably, I spend most of my time at Mother's house in New Hampshire." What?

"Your mother's house?"

Chuck nods superiorly. "I believe that's what I said."

"I was always told you went to some boarding school in Massachusetts." I try not to appear too puzzled or surprised.

He shrugs. "That's what Father tells everyone. He's a little ashamed his own son prefers his divorced wife to himself." He obviously has some daddy issues that I'd rather not know about, especially since I still plan on spending this summer holed up in a room... well, being in there with Serena puts a damper on things, but I can manage. Eleanor's description says she's something of a partier, so maybe she'll spend all of her time outside of the house. One can hope.

"So when are the Wonder Twins getting here?" Chuck questions.

"'Wonder Twins?'" Nate looks kind of cute when he's confused.

Chuck shrugs. "The other two," he says in a who-else-would-I-be-talking-about voice. "Dan and that girl... something that starts with an 'S'?"

"Serena," I snap quickly.

He smirks impishly. "That's right. Well, I'm off to get the good room. See you both later." Chuck sharply turns on his heel and saunters out the door in a very confident manner.

Leaving Nate and myself to be awkward with each other.

"Which room is the good room?" Nate wonders.

"I'm guessing the only room with one bed." Shocked realization etches onto Nate's face, but then he quickly shrugs it off and smirks.

"Guess we'll both be rooming with one half of the Wonder Twins, then?" If this is supposed to forge some sort of bond between us, then this summer will be a lot longer than I anticipated.

"I'm going to get some fresh air." I leave as abruptly as Chuck. Let Nate have some alone time. Maybe the next time we talk he won't sound half as stupid. Besides, the front of the house really is beautiful, and with some work, the back might be, too. I could make that my project: hire some gardeners and design a prettier backyard. It certainly would keep the others out of my hair.

I arrive on the front porch and, though it pains me, take a seat on the swing. If I rock back and forth and close my eyes, I can almost pretend I'm navigating the Amazon River with a strange and beautiful man. But this my life, not _Green Mansions_. So I'll have to stick with pretending for now until someone comes to rescue me from this awful, dreary, dreadful, hideous-

"Hey, are you Blair?" A girl's voice calls out from a black Mercedes SUV rental car sitting in the front of the house. She stands there with a hand pressed upon her forehead, squinting against the sun. I smirk a little at the sight of the rental car; at least I was right about something.

Beside her, Dan (I assume) unloads oodles of suitcases from the trunk and back seats of the car. His hair is a vaguely military style cut, and he has a coffee house vibe that I can sense all the way from back here. If there's one thing I cannot stand, it's people who frequent coffee houses. They all act intelligent and worldly, like they're actually informed about things going on. Most of them know nothing beyond the basic facts, so they sit there, having the same conversations and drinking the same coffee every day for the entirety of their pathetic lives.

Needless to say, I take an immediate dislike to Dan.

Serena, well, there is no word to describe her other than breathtaking. I'm surprised she hasn't been cast as a model yet, what with her flowing _naturally_ golden hair (dyed hair just doesn't have that sparkle, and Serena's hair sure sparkles a lot), beautiful legs that never end, healthily tanned, bronzed skin, and a dazzling smile that blinds me even as I sit on the porch. Three guesses as to who the boys are flying with this summer. And that leaves Dan to go after me. I think I'd rather have Nate chasing me.

I stand up and make my way off the porch, across the stone pathway, and through the wooden gate. "Yes, I am Blair." _That's_ a good way to start a relationship with someone. Pity I don't care about starting a relationship with her.

She lets out a breath of relief. "Oh, thank God," she mutters while still smiling. "If you hadn't been, I would've looked like a total moron." I smirk- barely- in spite of myself. She's infectious. And looks nothing like the party girl Eleanor said she was. I can't imagine that face dancing drunkenly with a gaggle of horny teenage boys grinding against her. She seems far too angelic for that.

"Gee, Serena, how do you think you look now?" Dan slams the doors to the SUV, stumbling over the piles of luggage.

She laughs. It's brilliant, funny, light, the way she laughs. "Not as moronic as you. And by the way, I'm Serena. Van der Woodsen." She doesn't offer me her hand to shake. Weird, but I don't mind. "This is my brother-by-marriage, Dan Humphrey."

"Such a grand introduction," Dan says. He's dorky, sarcastic, every bad quality a man can have. I don't like him at all. "There are better descriptors."

"None that Blair would like to hear, I'm sure," Serena mutters.

I try to hide the little smile that quirks at the corners of my mouth. "Well, I would, but we have others to meet."

"Others? Are we the last ones?"

Serena gives him an incredulous glare. "Dan, you got lost for almost an hour. If you'd have just let me navigate-"

"How much do you know about navigation?"

"I knew how to get here. You should've listened to my directions."

"It's a bit difficult to read a map while you're driving!"  
She laughs at him like she can't believe what he's saying. I can't either, because it's proving me right once again. "Then maybe you should've given it to me!"

"Ah. Trademark sibling fights." Chuck waltzes out of the house with full champagne glass. I guess these cupboards are pretty stocked. I wonder if our parents knew that. Too late for baby-sitting now, though. "Nathaniel and I were opening a housewarming bottle, and we happened to pick up on the dulcet tones of a stubborn baritone and a bickering soprano. I take it you too are the Wonder Twins?"

"We're not twins," Dan tells him quickly.

"Yeah. I'm a couple of months older." Dan looks down, rejected. Chuck grins into the champagne glass he sips. Well played, Serena. Maybe I judged her a little too rapidly.

"I'm Chuck Bass." He doesn't miss a beat, does he? As soon as he gulps his drink down, he's bending over to clasp her hand in a light shake. "And you are absolutely stunning."

She quirks her head to the side and giggles. "... Thanks? My actual name is Serena."

He nods in response. "That's always good to know."

"Hi. I'm Dan," Dan interjects sarcastically as a plea for attention. He's certainly not getting any, and I do mean that both ways.

Chuck inclines his head in Dan's direction, but other than that, doesn't acknowledge him. We're about to descend into an awkward silence, when Serena turns to me, ready to break it. But Nate breaks it for her.

"Why did no one tell me about the party?" His gaze is instantly drawn to Serena; why wouldn't it be? The only other new thing to look at is Dan, and I don't get the impression that Nate swings that way. "Serena and Dan?"

"Nate?" Dan steps up to grasp Nate's hand. He puts both of his hands on top of Nate's. Strange, but I won't question.

"Hey, let us help you with that stuff. You don't have to carry it all up yourself," Nate offers. What a gentleman.

Chuck laughs at this suggestion. "Chuck Bass is no bellboy." He swigs down the rest of his champagne and watches Nate, Dan, and Serena gather up their things. And I feel myself compelled to help, too, just grab a handbag or something. I do this because Nate sticks out his graceless elbow for Serena and she loops her arm through it with only the slightest smile on her face. Dan notices none of this as he heaves more luggage onto his body than the other two combined.

Chuck notices my eyes wandering towards the pair of interlocked elbows and cocks his eyebrows at me, amused. I send him a death glare, and he returns the favor, only his is mocking. Maybe I'm going back to liking Nate better than Chuck, only by a minuscule margin once again.

Then again, maybe not. He's so fickle in his attractions, Nate. Just a moment ago, he was making clumsy, nonsensical small talk and flirting using middle school level skills with me. Now it's transferred to _Serena_.

I said before that the picture I'd painted of Serena might've been wrong. But never mind that. I mean, I know I'm not even that attracted to Nate. Yet he was attracted to me, and Serena just stole that. Serena, of course, isn't privy to the fact that a Waldorf never loses her conquests, no matter how small and brief they were to begin with. So I'll have the element of surprise on my side, which is good.

Because this means war.


	3. The Bar and the Boys

_Stay up too late, and I'm too thin_

_We promise each other it's 'til the end_

_Now we're spinning empty bottles_

_It's the five of us_

_With pretty eyed boys girls die to trust_

Three days, excluding the day we got here. That's how long the five of us have been rotting here, deteriorating in this boring house. All Chuck does is drink from the well-stocked cabinets. All Dan does is sit in the backyard with a notebook, writing and occasionally sleeping. All Nate does is stare at Serena, me, and the ceiling for hours. All I do is watch Audrey Hepburn movies on the couch in the isolated downstairs den.

But Serena... All Serena does is try to get us to be social. And cook. She cooks all of our meals. We haven't eaten take-out once so far. She makes us all have a sort of "sit down" dinner where we talk and exchange our feelings. At least, I think that's her goal. She hasn't really made much progress. The four of us eat in silence while she babbles on about something or other until she feels the need to direct a specific question at one of us. Generally, they're directed at me. I don't like it.

Serena also visits me in my little hideaway at least four times a day, but often more. She visited me four times the first day, but I think she was just making the rounds to everyone equally. Now she's drawn to me like Bond is drawn to girls with guns. She just comes and sits on the couch to the left of the television and watches intently. I get the feeling she likes Audrey Hepburn- or maybe only Audrey Hepburn films- because she's mesmerized by them. Sometimes I stop watching the film and watch _her_.

She's always in the same position: curled up near the end of the couch with her one arm on the armrest. The other one clutches a pillow close to her chest. She plays with the tassels on the pillow throughout the entire show. It must be an unconscious movement, because she never looks down, and as soon as she sits, she plays with it. Plays and plays and plays with it until it drives me mad and I have to look away.

Her face scrunches up into all sorts of different expressions as she watches the films, taking on whatever emotion Audrey has in that particular scene. It's fascinating to see and observe these tiny changes as she goes along with the movie. I've watched _Breakfast at Tiffany's _at least four times over the course of the past few days, and it's scary how well her facial movements match the screen. I haven't watched much of the movie when she's down here, because I'm watching her.

So Serena and I don't talk much, only when she comes down near the end and the credits are about to role. I can't even really tell you what specifically we talked about because in the span of those credits, we talked about everything. We've laughed and we've gotten serious and everything in between. She comes down a lot, brings me food sometimes, too. I think it's her excuse of getting down here to talk to me. I don't mind it, though. Even though I've sworn war against her, it only counts if Nate is doing something against us. Because, and though you can't quote me on this, she's not really an awful person.

Which is why, on Friday, as I'm holed up in my room, Dan can't convince me to go out on the town with the rest of them. Chuck can't do it either. Nate tries, but stumbles over everything he says and I can hardly understand his question. But Serena can.

I'm lying on my bed, reading _Pride and Prejudice_ for the umpteenth time, in peace when she saunters in innocently. It's hard not to acknowledge her presence, but I keep my nose firmly buried in that book. It's one of the ones that helps me maintain that romantic ideal of the perfect man, who I will find someday contrary to what everyone around me thinks. And based on the general male populace, I would tend to agree. But I won't give up on it.

She plops down on my bed, right near my outstretched legs. The weight of her body crunches the soft mattress and I instantly want her off, because I don't want my legs sinking into the fabric. "Blair, come on."

"Come on out with the four of you tonight?" I ask innocently.

"Yeah; please."

I shake my head. "No."

"Why not?"

I've been ready for that inevitable question all week. "I don't like going out, unless it's for society reasons. I'd rather sit in here and read."

Serena laughs happily. "Come on, Blair. What normal teenager does that?"

"Maybe I'm not normal," I shrug, still focused on the words in front of me.

Even though I can't see her face, I know it's smiling. "Blair. Please. Otherwise, I'm going to have to deal with Dan protecting me all night. From Chuck and Nate. He thinks that, as a girl, I will be safe with you." There's something unspoken in that sentence, but I decide to let it stay that way. I don't really know why she's acting this way, and I really know even less about why it's making me feel a twitch guilty.

"Serena, I'm not in the mood," I insist, but I feel my guard slipping. She's worming her way in, over my wall. It's not fair that her voice has that underlying persuasive quality to it. Not fair at all.

She puts her hand on my leg and I'm forced to put my book down. I jolt my eyes quickly to that spot, where hand is. It feels a little too warm on my leg, like she's got a fever or something. "I- well, no."

She laughs and leans over me, hair tickling my thigh. "Just for a bit? Please?" She draws it out until it's left a bit of ringing in my ears, and I can't stand it any longer.

"Fine. But only to stop you from driving me crazy." I mark my page in the book and set it down on the nightstand.

As I stand, I see her scanning me up and down with a look of puzzlement. "You're going to need a new outfit. This one isn't fit for a night on the town."

Normally, at home, I'd be ecstatic to be trying on clothing in a giggly manner with my friends, but Serena is not my friend nor do I have a desire to head where we're going. "Serena, don't push your luck."

She pouts in hopes of making me change my mind, but by looking away I manage to avoid the problem of having to resist. "Fine," she relents shortly after I turn, because I can see, from the corner of my eye, that she's given up. There's nothing left to her. For that moment.

But moments like that are too short to last in Serena's world, one that I imagine is filled with ever changing swirls of color and light and love. Her perky smile returning to its rightful place, she jumps off the bed with the exuberance and grace of a Whac-a-Mole. "Let's get moving." She offers me her hand. It's almost like I'll be making a pact, a bond, a commitment by taking that hand. It makes me hesitate.

But only for a second.

I put my hand in hers, and it feels like she's managed to draw me out of hiding to fight for justice and _right_. The powerful effect she has on you; I can see why she's drawn the attention of our three lovely boys. It's not that her presence, her hand, her touch causes me to feel like I'm the only person in the world right now; no, it lets me _know_ that right now, for this moment, the world's population has dwindled down to a measly two, and that's the perfect number.

As soon as I stop my pathetic resistance, she lets go, and the other seven billion kicking, screaming, fighting, whining, messy people return to this world. It's a disappointment to say the least, but I show no reaction.

We arrive at the foot of the elegant stairs where the three boys have assembled, all in semi-casual styles made by some of the most expensive designers in the world- except for Dan, who looks like he belongs in an Old Navy ad. Nate's got on what most people would consider normal summer clothing, and, by himself, Chuck has maxed out the plaid capacity for the entire Hamptons area. It's not that it clashes horribly; it's just a lot to look at.

"Well, well, well," Chuck drawls, eyes floating up and down us a little too much to be proper. "Look what we found in the bat cave."

I roll my eyes at him. Immature ass. "Be quiet, Chuck. And for your information, I'm only coming to keep Serena company."

At this remark designed to keep Chuck away more than anything else, Serena smiles grandly, and I'm the only other person on the planet(how is that possible with three boys standing right here next to us?). She loops her arm through the one I've placed casually on my hip and I instinctively tighten mine around hers. "Exactly."

Chuck snorts, and Nate once again remains slightly dazed. Dan resembles a small child who's just been told that he's getting a pony for his birthday, but he quickly does away with that attitude and opts for a more stoic, tough guy face. "Just make sure she doesn't get in trouble."

The five of us slowly and tentatively forced ourselves to leave the foyer and cram into the car with a closeness we aren't quite comfortable with yet. Dan takes over the driving, patriarchal role and Chuck slides in stealthily next to him, clearly not wanting to be out done as the alpha male.

Nate quietly positions himself in the back row of seats, courteously leaving the two middle seats open for Serena and myself. Serena, who is still back at the front of the house locking the door in what feels like a symbolic way. What it's symbolic of, I'm not positive. She hurries out to the car on the massive steps of her extended legs and a brilliant grin that's starting to fade into pretend. And even with that big grin, she can't manage any words of encouragement or peppiness. It should be a sign. I've never felt this awkward in my life, except maybe for the time I had to kiss Adam Penesco. As far as first kisses go, it was awful, mainly because I'd only gone out with him on a pity date. I hadn't expected him to grab me like that, and if I'd known that was what the evening held, I wouldn't have agreed in the first place.

No one breaks the silence. No one does anything except stare into their laps, fiddle with their fingers. Serena breaks this rule, though, per usual. I think the whole situation would've been more awkward if she hadn't moved. Dead silence is one thing, but just stillness... simply fixated on yourself and knowing everyone else is too. There's something overbearing about that type of inaction. So thank God for Serena van der Woodsen, even if she is a sworn enemy. A really friendly, insidious sworn enemy.

She just moves, you know? She can't be completely still to save her life; she tries, when Chuck tilts his head to barely face her in a clear bout of annoyance. It doesn't work very well. All outward signs of her movement abruptly stop, yet looking very closely, I can see her cheeks puff up as her tongue swishes anxiously around her mouth. It's a fascinating motion, for I've never seen anyone so intent on even the tiniest bit of movement. She certainly looks like she'd go crazy if she stopped.

Thankfully, the ride ends soon as we pull up in front of a club that Dan has made a command decision to attend. I don't think he knows the first thing about picking a proper dance place, but we'll let it slide because dancing always clears up any strange silences between groups of people.

The beat is infectious as I watch the three of them dance. I've been stuck with Dan on the sidelines while we observe the show and make some casual conversation with him. He's not as much of an ass as he appears to be, however he's also had several beers at this point as well. We're sitting, talking, coughing, laughing at the gyrations on the dance floor made by our other three house mates. Chuck's off somewhere else with some other girls, but occasionally we get a glimpse of a random appendage batting in our direction, and he seems to be enjoying himself.

A few hours ago when the three socialites broke for the floor and Dan and I broke for the bar, I instantly felt the jealousy well up inside of me at the sight of Nate and Serena shyly shaking together. But Dan decided to be a gentleman and quickly order me up a light alcoholic drink(I can't remember which one now, hours later).

But as I've learned, it's damn near impossible to stay angry at Serena for too long, and the drunker I get, the more I like to watch. Nate looms over Serena just barely, his presence lanky and clumsy. Serena's not really dancing with him; she's dancing _near_ him, like she's dancing near the boy with the dark sunglasses or the girl with a dress so short it almost looks like an undergarment. She's so fluid with her motions, the sporadic waves of her arms, the rapid yet delicate swings of her hips. There's so much to her; the definition in her calves, the slight hint of muscle in her arms, the toned stomach peeking out beneath her ridden up shirt. It makes me think about my own body and how there's nothing to it. I'm simply a stick with arms and legs and a head and hardly visible chest. Serena's body is how everyone's should look; it's simply flawless. Even Nate, with his crisply shaved facial hair, can't match that level of perfection.

So when Dan offers to buy me another drink, I don't decline.

"She really told you that?" I laugh at Dan Humphrey's latest story of his complete and utter failure at interactions with females. He's told enough to fill up an hour already. I'm starting to feel sorry for this boy.

He chugs another bit of his drink, and I can't even tell what it is anymore. "Honest to God. She was... she went... 'Get the hell out of my house, Humphrey! I don't need you molesting my cat!'" The two of us simultaneously burst into giggles and hunch over our stools like two loons.

I wipe my eyes from the tears we've just been crying about this ridiculous story. "You have no luck with girls, do you know that?"

He squawks at me. Yes, squawks. "I know, I know. Did you know... ha, it's funny, you're gonna laugh... Serena and I... we used to have this fling! Ha! It was great, but then she was all... I shouldn't tell you... I won't, it's over!" I do a hyena roar right along with him, not even sure what's so funny about that. Thinking on it, it's kind of disgusting.

"You..." Dan teeters back and forth on his seat. "Aren't you s'pposed to be winning Nate gallantly or something? You told me that, right?"

"Oh yeah." I stand up with authority and mosey on largely to the floor, giving Dan a thumbs up. I've honestly forgotten until now that Nate's _mine_ and I should be the one taking him on the floor. Besides, it should be easy, considering Serena's not really interested in anything other than her own styles and spins.

I manage to nearly topple myself into Nate, but he doesn't seem to mind. He actually appears to be fairly sober, from what I can tell in my half-drunk haze. I sort of fall into him, grab his hands, and start moving to the beat. "Hey."

He's all smiles. "What have you been doing?"

"Dan." Nate almost pops, I swear. "I mean, talking. With Dan. Ew! Nothing like that. Talking. He's so awkward with girls, did you know that? He told me so. He wasn't awkward with me."

Nate smirks at me. "Maybe that's because you're both drunk beyond belief?"

"I'm not that drunk. If I were, I'd already have all my clothes off by now." Serena hears this declaration and hurriedly steps between the two of us, putting her hands on our chests and pushing Nate and me apart.

"There will be no removal of clothing," she says, her voice stern. Clearly her idea of a fun night out does not include unexpected pregnancy. And she's surprisingly sober as well; maybe she's not the partier my mother thinks she is.

He looks blankly at her. "That's exactly what we wouldn't be doing."

Serena rolls her eyes. "I know how drunk girls can be. Come on, I think you've had enough of the boys for one night, Blair."

Nate's quick to protest; quicker than I am. "Aw, Serena. We just barely started. You're the one that dragged us out here in the first place."

Serena latches firmly onto my arm and drags me away as I giggle. "I wasn't going to remove my clothes!" I protest like a little toddler.

She seems to think it's funny. "I don't want to take any chances with you." We regroup at the bar with Nate tailing us and Chuck and Dan both sitting there. Chuck smiles devilishly at our drunken trio and slides three champagne glasses to us.

"I thought," he begins with a little slur to his voice. "That tonight's been really... wonderful. A great bonding experience. I don't hate you all now." We all chuckle, because we know it's true. Even my vendetta against Serena fades slowly because she doesn't seem to have any apparent interest in Nate.

"I don't hate you either," I proclaim with a titter.

The other three rich kids agree with us in a mumble and it gives Chuck an extra wind of strength. "To friendship! To more parties! To fun! To this summer! To us!"

We laugh at his feeble toast, but clink our glasses together anyways. It's more of a clunk since most of us are intoxicated.

"So who's ready to go home?" Serena proposes. "Everyone here, except for Nate and me, is quite drunk. And a certain someone almost removed her clothing."

Chuck lets out a loud, boisterous snort at this. "Blair stripped?"

It's got the three boys laughing and almost rioting with the amount of fist pounding they're doing on the wooden bar top. Serena and I just share a knowing smirk, wondering what exactly we've gotten ourselves into.


End file.
